Twigs of Death: The Plaga Chronicles Part 1

By Daniel McCaslin

Power in life is fleeting. Power over existence is eternal. In Ephorus, the power of creation and destruction lay dormant, waiting to be unleashed to set right the course of time. If Marian were to let her father, The Master of Steinigen, succeed in his quest to o

• Language: English
• Publisher: Minor Flock Publishing
• Release date: May 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088138984

Book preview

one

Marian watched the sunset from a grassy hill outside the Steinigen fortress. Free from her father, and free from his warlocks and guards, the moment she carved out of time for herself was one of peace. She was surrounded by Harken Lilies, a rare flower whose seeds were prized elsewhere in the Kingdom of Ephorus. She whispered into the petals, a plea for rescue, and a tear rolled down her freckled cheek. Ancient texts told of pixies who could hear your cries through the delicate system the flower built beneath the earth with its roots, but no one had ever come. As the final ray of sunlight touched her, she snapped her fingers, and a bright spark arose on her fingertips, bobbing up and down in the wind. She smiled and concentrated on the flame, willing it to grow and spread across her hand. She didn’t feel any pain; that had vanished years ago, along with her screams from being beaten by her father’s men.

The sun was racing over the horizon, a cue for Marian to return to the fortress. She shoved her burning palm into the patch of Harken Lilies, and a puff of smoke and pollen burst forth. The smoke surrounded her as it drifted down to the ground. The first time she had tried to run away from her father, a similar cloud of smoke led his trackers right to her.

Marian gazed at the Logi Mountains as the sun dropped toward their jagged peaks. There was a volcanic fire raging inside those mountains, which made them impossible to cross. No one knew what lay beyond them. She had read once that her great-grandfather had sent a team of trackers to find a path off the isthmus, but they did not succeed. Marian felt a connection with the fire and sensed that it beckoned her. It gave her a feeling of warmth and belonging, something she never felt inside the walls of Steinigen.

Marian had never known a soul to call mother. No one ever mentioned who the woman may have been and Marian could find no images in her mind when she would search. She’d been raised by her father, a power-crazed maniac. The only female in her life had been her Aunt Maven, a wicked creature obsessed with death, who’d wandered the halls at night, shouting about the reign of darkness beyond the Logi Mountains, but she’d been sent away. Marian had never left Steinigen, though she knew her ancestors had destroyed vast swaths of the kingdom, and she doubted she would ever be welcomed alive by anyone south of the Morkere Forest. Perhaps, however, death wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to her.

The sound of the massive fortress gates creaking open brought Marian’s thoughts back to the present. Her father was heading east to the port of Valga. He always traveled after dark, boasting that he was the terror everyone feared in the night. Soon all Marian could hear was the pounding of horses’ hooves. As the orange sun plunged behind the mountains, she knew the burning inside her was about to begin.

The ache began in her toes and crept up her legs. It felt like knives underneath her skin. After her last attempt at running away, her father had cast a spell on her: if she wasn’t inside the fortress walls by sundown, her body would be engulfed in pain. He thought he had ended the possibility of her ever attempting to leave again, but it only made her remember every night why she must.

Racing the darkness, Marian climbed up the twenty-foot fortress wall. If she fell, she might die, but she was strong, and she gripped the unforgiving, gray stones with determination. She’d done it so many times that her fingers were calloused and her muscles hard, and she pulled herself up easily. When she reached the top, she lifted herself over and caught a guard by surprise. He quickly unsheathed his sword, but Marian raised her hands and snapped her fingers. Bright flames leapt from her hands, crawling up her arms. The guard looked terrified and backed away, tripping over the stones and tumbling backward as Marian walked past.

Well done, Marian, she whispered to herself. I know, she responded with a giggle, but thank you for saying so.

Making her way to her quarters, Marian realized her father’s departure meant she would have time for escape. It had been months since he had left the fortress grounds, but after a messenger arrived early that morning, his warlocks had begun to prepare his caravan of horses for a journey. She almost asked him where he was going, but she didn’t want to hear his voice ever again.

She reached her door, smiling at its disheveled appearance. It was a heavy slab of oak covered with indentions from the guards who tried to force it open over the years. She leaned close and whispered into its cracks and crevices, her voice releasing the barrier she had created to prevent her father’s guards from entering. Her father had taught her nothing about the world beyond Steinigen, but he did delight in seeing her develop her powers. Though he had no intention of ever dying or ceding his control, he dreamed of using her in his conquests; to what extent, he never said. Destruction brewed within their family’s blood, and her father feasted on its potential. He’d be more than happy to watch her wither if it meant draining every last ounce of power from her body for his purpose.

The door responded to her voice and slowly opened to let her enter before slamming shut behind her. The room was dark, but she knew it well enough to find her way without the aid of light. When she got to her desk, she reached for the candle and brought it close to her mouth. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and slowly exhaled on the wick. The scorching heat poured out from deep within her, and a tiny flame appeared on the candle. Her pale skin began to glow in its light. She smiled as the flame fought the drafts that permeated the entire fortress, admiring how it refused to surrender.

She put down the candle and sat on her bed, closing her eyes and taking slow, deep breaths as she steeled her courage for what would come next.

two

The sun was setting behind the Aurian Hills as Ian took a few puffs from his pipe. It was a peaceful evening. Birds were fluttering around the trees, dancing in the wind, enjoying the day’s last bit of light. The nights had started getting colder, but he didn’t need to start a fire yet. A slight chill at night gave him a chance to wrap an extra blanket around himself for comfort and security.

Taking a deep drag from his pipe, he exhaled a plume of smoke. The pipe had been his father’s and was showing its age. When he smoked it, he felt much older than the two decades he had managed to survive. His father had picked up the habit as a young man, continuing through the years even though Ian’s mom often chided him for it. She was convinced that Ian would emulate his father, clogging his body and mind with smoke.

Ian chuckled as he knocked the pipe against his boot and shook out the dried leaves. Only on rare occasions did he indulge in the ritual. His memories didn’t let him enjoy it for too long, or too often.

Raucous laughter broke out from behind him in his shop. He turned and caught a glimpse of Benson showing off his magic tricks to a few drunken wanderers. Most likely, they were vagrants wanted for thievery or worse, but their money was good and Ian wasn’t inclined to care. Benson wasn’t concerned, so neither was he.

Ian placed the pipe in his shirt pocket and eased himself out of the chair, saying goodnight to the sun before making his way inside. As he entered, he saw that the table between Benson and the drunks was covered with stacks of cards and coins. They were playing Siyan, which Benson had learned only a few months earlier. The drunkard had been fascinated by Benson, a bear that could interact with humans, and spent hours teaching him the game. Ever since, Benson had become quite the savant, mastering Siyan quickly enough to defeat almost every challenger he faced.

Ian sidled up to the table, taking a seat beside his friend, and watched in fascination as Benson effortlessly demolished the hands of the men before him. As each man chose from the alliance, mischief, or war decks, Benson remained poised, his cards laid bare on the table taunting the three men. He countered an attack from the drunkard to his left while the other two joined forces through the alliance cards. Drawing a ne’er do well spell from the mischief deck, Benson combined it with a miscreant card he already had on the table. Laying the cards down together between the two men across from him sullied their alliance instantly, leaving them open for the shredding.

With their strategy in tatters, Benson continued to make mischief his aim as he confused his opponents and weakened their defenses. Then he swooped in and decimated all of them.

As the three men squabbled, insistent that they could have taken Benson down had the others not interfered, Ian motioned toward the window and the darkening sky. Benson nodded and groaned as he began picking the cards up from the deck.

Sorry gentleman, but if you wish to win back your earnings you can return tomorrow. For now, though, the night is falling, and we’re closing shop.

The men groaned. They had just settled on a new plan of attack to destroy Benson.

Don’t be a daisy, wee man, the drunk in the center scoffed as he took a swig from his mug. The dark is when the fun begins! He laughed as his drink dripped down his mustache onto his chest.

His friends snorted and hollered and began sorting the cards and shuffling the decks. Benson placed his paw on Ian’s shoulder and smiled, eager to keep playing and take all of the money in the pockets of the three men.

See. Even the bear wants to keep going. And you never argue with a bear.

The drunk in the middle appeared to be the mouthpiece of the group. Ian shrugged his shoulders and resigned himself to a long night of noise and debauchery.

May he have mercy upon your coin, because he hasn’t lost in weeks, Ian said as he walked away from the table.

Benson growled, pleased by the compliment and staring down the men as if to prove Ian’s point. He squirmed in the chair, trying to get comfortable and its legs squeaked and whimpered under his hefty body. The men broke out in laughter. He ran his massive paw across his chest, the claws stretching out and scratching his dark brown fur. His smile of pleasure bared his glistening teeth.

Never fear, wee boy, the man said as he took another swig from his cup and slammed it on the table. I’ve changed my mind. It’s not Siyan I wish to play now.

Ian and Benson sensed the shift in the man’s mood, and so did his friends. As they stood up, Benson lifted himself upright, clearing Ian’s head by several stones’ length. The two backed away from the table. They had learned the value of separation and the avenues of defense it afforded over the years.

Don’t be going too far away now, the man said. While we only plan to take your money and a few potions per request from our sponsor, we’re also just a tad bored and would like to stomp on you for a while to lift our spirits. And maybe, the man sneered as he focused on Benson, maybe we take home a new rug or jacket.

Oh, no, Ian said, that was a bad thing to say. He turned to see his furry friend becoming enraged. Please apologize and leave before this gets worse.

A soft growl was coming from Benson as his mouth opened slowly, saliva dripping from his fangs.

We leave when we’re ready. And we never apologize, the man snapped.

His two friends charged Benson in unison, trying to flank him. Benson lunged at one of the men and smashed him with his head, sending him to the ground. Ian leaped onto the other man’s back and pulled a vial from his pocket. He popped the top and shoved it to the man’s nostril, forcing him to inhale it. Then Ian poured its contents down the man’s shirt. In an instant the man began shouting as he violently tore at his clothes, ripping them off and running outside, naked.

Might have gone a touch too far with the potion this ti— Ian said, but he was cut off by a piercing scream. Benson was standing on top of his attacker, his saliva dripping down on the man’s face.

Please don’t eat me, the man cried as he tried to wrench himself from beneath Benson.

I told you not to— Ian was cut off again as the naked man he had just dispatched came back inside screaming. Oh, come on. Not in the shop! Ian shouted as the man ran around, bumping into shelves before heading back out into the night.

Ian turned his attention to Benson, whose opponent was now passed out on the floor from fright. While Benson hoisted the unconscious man, Ian motioned for the trio’s leader to make his way to the door.

If you’d please leave, now. We can end this without any further acts of aggression.

The man placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as he backed away from the table.

And if I don’t?

The man’s words were meant to be menacing, but he was betrayed by his voice, which cracked as he spoke.

Well, your friend running around naked in the dark might die of exposure. I’m not sure where I went wrong with the potion, but he got way too much of something, so you’re going to need to check on him. This one, Ian pointed to the limp man on Benson’s shoulder, has shown you how well he can do in a fight with a bear, so that sucks for you, he paused as Benson raised the limp man’s hand and waved it, easily holding the lifeless mass of human on his shoulder. So feel free to take your chances, but we’re not inclined to offer sanctuary after a fight’s been started, and your little bear rug comment has done away with any leniency he may have shown.

I… the man began, his voice quivering. I can’t carry him. I got a bad back, you see. If I try to lift him, it’s going to give out, and then I’ll be laid out on the floor. I hired these guys to help me with the job, thinking I would just have to sound tough and have them do the fighting for me.

Puzzled, Ian replied, But didn’t you just threaten to beat up both of us without them?

I thought you guys might have backed down, intimidated by the gravitas of my voice.

No. Not at all, Ian replied as Benson laughed and patted the man on his shoulder. Follow us, Ian said to the man as he and Benson went out the door.

To where?

To our wheelbarrow on the side of the shop. Benson will dump your buddy in it, and you can push it to the edge of the wood. The road will take you back to the heart of Cosen where you can find somewhere to dump your frie— Ian stopped as he heard the naked man screaming in the distance, somewhere in the dark of night. You are going to have a hard time finding him, he muttered.

As Ian stared into the dark with the man, Benson was already coming back with the limp man in the wheelbarrow. He rolled it up to the man and dropped the handles. The man spoke up again.

Hate to ask, but could you lift it back up again? And then, he patted his hands against the small of his back, and then I’ll take it from there. My back, and all.

Benson sighed as Ian laughed. Their attackers were feeble. Benson lifted the wheelbarrow handles and gave them to the man, who groaned as he pushed the wheelbarrow forward.

Many thanks, he said as he struggled to push the heavy load.

Never come back, Ian said as he waved the man on, happy to see him out of the shop.

The feeble attacker slowly slipped away into the darkness of the night, and Ian and Benson headed back into the shop, ignoring the distant screams of the naked miscreant. The potion would wear off by morning, and it wasn’t cold enough for him to freeze. This was their fourth attempted robbery in as many months, and they were exhausted. Ian slumped into a chair at the table. Benson sat beside him and grabbed the Siyan cards, growling happily.

Ian stared at his friend with amusement. Nothing ever seemed to faze Benson. But, when you’re the biggest animal in the fight, you probably don’t have to worry all that much. Ian nodded his consent and Benson began dealing the cards as they settled in for the night.

three

A dollop of hot candle wax dripped onto Marian’s bare toes as she leaned forward, perusing the books and journals scattered throughout her father’s study. She muffled a shout by biting her lip. She wasn’t supposed to be here, so she had to be discreet. But she opted to light a few more candles so that she could read without getting too close to the flame. The guards didn’t patrol her father’s quarters often, but would come running were they to notice the light and her unwelcomed presence there.

The flames flickered to life around her, and the room danced with shadows and filled with an orange glow. Her eyes went back to scanning the books, her inner voice coming back to life. It had woken her during the last several nights in the middle of nightmares about her father’s impending campaign.

You’ll know it when you see it, she said softly. But how? There are hundreds of dusty old journals in here. Her fingers ran across the books’ spines. She closed her eyes, trying to focus. You can do this, Marian, she whispered.

Her fingers trailed across a shelf nailed into the stone wall beneath the family crest. She stared at the insignia, a dragon surrounded by fire, set within a three-pronged shield. No love or kindness could come from such a thing.

Focus!

Marian spun around in fear, thinking she had been caught, but she found herself alone and realized that she had spoken aloud. She used to talk to herself for the company as a child but she thought she had moved past it by now. That voice was coming back even stronger now, though, leaving her to wonder if she was even in control of it. Her hand was still on the shelf, touching the books. Then her fingers slipped into a gap and felt like they’d gotten burned by fire.

She pushed the books aside to get a closer look. There was a small leather journal hidden between the ancestral tomes. She pulled it out and wiped the dust off, her heart skipping a beat when the leather tugged at her fingers, as if desperate to hold onto her. She felt excited when she saw the cover image was a meadow of Harken Lilies and clutched the journal as a voice rang through her head.

Go, now, the voice called out.

She tried to get a hold of herself, desperate to control the voice inside her head. It’s just me. It’s just me. It’s just me, she whispered to herself as she wrapped her arms around herself as tight as she could, the journal pressing against her chest.

And you are more than enough, the voice said with warmth and affection as if coming from the journal. But you must go. Time is precious now.

Marian turned around to leave but knocked several books to the floor in her haste. As they crashed to the stones, she stood still, listening for footsteps. No one came, so she slipped the journal in a pocket in her cloak and put the books back in place.

She made quick work of blowing out the candles, letting the eyes of the dragon watching over the room disappear into the darkness. She inched the door open, hoping to see an empty hall indifferent to the noise she had caused.

She stepped out slowly, making sure no one saw her leaving her father’s study. As she moved down the hallway toward her quarters, she began to relax, the warm presence of the journal resting tightly in her pocket. She raised her hands and let them run across the cool stone walls. The air outside was cold as it blew down from the Logi Mountains, unphased by the fire roiling deep beneath the black stones. The outside realm couldn’t cross those mountains into Ephorus, but the icy wind did, a bleak reminder of the isolation the mountains imposed.

As her fingers began to grow numb, Marian imagined the fire from the candles igniting a flame within her hands. A cloud of smoke came from her lips, and a scent of sulfur filled the hall. Her hands began to glow, and the cold around her disappeared.

You are stronger than you realize. The voice came out flat and stern, breaking her concentration and snapping her back into the moment. Burn marks appeared on the stones her hands were pressed against.

I am stronger, she whispered to herself.

She hastened back to her quarters and whispered the incantation to the door. It opened and let her in. She removed the journal from her cloak, laid it on her bed, and began to gather her gear and provisions.

I have no idea what I’m doing, she said, feeling her terror coming back.

Why would you know what you’re doing? You’ve never done this before, she answered herself.

Marian tried not to shout, So why am I doing it?

Calm yourself, she snapped back. You will not be left alone. They will help you.

The desire to scream out who was nearly unbearable, but she restrained every part of her body until she felt her sense of control return. Marian stared down at the journal and pressed her palms against the sides of her head, hoping the pressure would stabilize her thoughts. She stared at the Harken Lilies on the cover: she’d heard the old tale about pixies using the lilies to communicate, and she wondered if it were true. Marian flipped open the journal and saw a map of Ephorus. The artist cared not for cities and roads but focused on geography. Ephorus appeared as a large isthmus surrounded on three sides by an even larger sea. Landmasses arched around its eastern and western edges, nearly touching it at some points. According to legend, the First Walkers had designed all the lands as one, keeping the different peoples together. But their ambitious creation was no match for the chaos that bubbled under the surface of everything, and wrath and death had slowly consumed all the lands except for Ephorus, their treasured home.

Death is inevitable, Marian whispered to herself. She didn’t want to believe it, but nothing she had seen in life offered her hope of anything else.

four

Nance’s eyes turned up toward the stars above Valga, his eyes searching for the dreki constellation while he listened to the sea lash out at the shore. His ancestors owed their powers to the beast, a dragon resting beneath the Logi Mountains. Nance cared little for the tale, or the devotion his father and sister had given it. He wanted the power. He wanted to crush the world and the stars beyond if he could, scorching all existence beneath his reign.

They are quite beautiful, though, he thought to himself as he waited for the man before him to find his courage and speak. Telling the Master of Steinigen that something had gone wrong was a costly job, and this man’s compatriot lay in a heap on the ground beside him.

I’m sorry Master, but she would not take. Sir Garrin instructed us to halt our attempts and sail to you at once.

Turning away from the stars, Nance let the fire burn bright in his eyes as fury seeped through his skin. He grabbed the unconscious man from the ground and lifted him with one hand. Taking a few steps toward the poor soul left standing, staring into his eyes, Nance heaved his unconscious compatriot into the distance. They listened to the sound of the man’s body tumbling down the hill until it ceased.

Do you have the Hearthwood? Nance’s words seethed from his mouth.

The man stumbled over his answer as he muttered, I was asked…. We were asked to inform you that it was not completed in the desired manner due to complications. Sir Garrin believes he can still make it powerful enough, but more time is needed.

You’re not answering my question, Nance snapped. As Master of Steinigen, he commanded complete obedience from his subjects, reserving the right to break, burn, or banish any or all parts of a transgressor.

Would you like me to poke him a while, sir? Sever asked as he ambled up.

Nance turned to his bodyguard, a creature made of enchanted volcanic stones, and saw him removing his sword from its sheath. He bore no armor but the insignia of Steinigen had been burned into his brittle chest by the Master. Sever stood unflinching, his unblinking emerald eyes casting an unnerving greenish glow. He stared at the broken man before them. The sword was unnecessary for him since he was strong enough to rip the man in half, but Nance preferred less splatter at times. And, although the thought of watching Sever torture this man would perk up his mood, it could also endanger